


(Nothing New, Just) Another Phase of Finding

by maddieaddam



Series: The first "I love you" drabbles [5]
Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Declarations Of Love, M/M, Pining, Short One Shot, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-23
Updated: 2017-05-23
Packaged: 2018-11-04 02:34:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10981557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maddieaddam/pseuds/maddieaddam
Summary: In which Brad is a brick wall, but a hypnotically captivating one when he sleeps.





	(Nothing New, Just) Another Phase of Finding

**Author's Note:**

> This story is only intended to represent the characters in the HBO miniseries Generation Kill as played by the actors therein. 
> 
> Written for the "one dozen ways to say 'I love you' for the first time" prompt challenge on Tumblr, request: when one thinks that the other can't hear them. Also my first foray into this pairing AND Generation Kill fic in general, so bear with me!

Nate’s pace as he jogs toward team one’s humvee is brisk rather than rushed or urgent, no more than his typical high efficiency style of leadership would demand. Some of the men have taken to regarding him warily if he approaches with even the slightest look of unease about him, in anything from his facial expression to the angle of his shoulders, even to the pace at which he walks; he can’t say he blames them, with the tenor of the news and orders he’s had to deliver lately, so he’s made the effort of watching his physicality more closely rather than scolding them for overreaction.

He can’t see any other members of team one congregated around the vehicle, but there’s a familiar figure slumped in the passenger seat: broad shoulders and long limbs all folded in on one another, head resting against the slightly open window at just the right angle for soft breezes to play through his fair hair like close-cropped grass, all leave no doubt that it’s Brad and not someone who’s pilfered his seat of honor.

Only when he’s close enough to reach toward the window with a knuckle extended does Nate realize that Brad’s eyes are closed, which causes him to withdraw his hand from the glass slowly and cautiously, as though just the sound of it slicing through thin air on the way back to his side could be enough to wake Brad - and really, that’s not far off the mark for the Iceman. Nate is surprised he hasn’t already got goosebumps prickling at the back of his neck, some silent instinct warning him that the platoon leader is near and he should snap back to focused attention. The thought brings a faint trace of a grin to his face, and in a rare moment of playfulness, he decides to stare more closely at Brad’s sleeping face. Just see how long it takes to register.

Brad doesn’t stir at all, and before long Nate has no excuse for his staring but the face in front of him. The sight of Brad that deeply at rest is starting to make Nate’s eyes burn, and as much as he tells himself it’s just the constant onslaught of dry, hot air and blowing sand keeping them perpetually irritated, he can’t quite make the excuse ring true. Not when his chest also aches, and his throat is also tight, and he knows damn fucking well that anyone in the platoon would be moved to see Brad Colbert sleeping like a normal human being instead of the most hyper-aware marine among them.

Nate should wake him. He’ll resent being allowed to sleep like this, and blame himself as much as those who left him in such a vulnerable, useless state.

Just because they’ve hit a rare lull in the action doesn’t mean anyone has the luxury to relax. Pause, yes, but not relax. Nate should wake him.

Nate should wake him.

He lifts that same hand again, pressing his fingertips lightly to the window; he knows he must make an absurdly maudlin picture like this, even though no one who might see him could know or begin to guess the depth of feeling behind the action, so he only allows himself a second of self-indulgence. Eyes soft, lips slightly parted with awe, hand pressed to the most literal, physical, and _simple_ of the barriers standing between them.

Instead of counting _one-one-thousand_ , he marks the time with four different syllables, whispered under his breath: “I love you, Brad.”

“Sir?”

Brad bolts upright, muscles rigid, eyes too wide and still glassy with sleep. Bracing himself with a big hand against the door, he looks around wildly before his gaze finally settles on Nate at the window. For his part, Nate can only guess how he must look by the way Brad’s disorientation immediately gets swapped out for apprehension.

“Sir, what -”

“At ease, Brad,” Nate says with every drop of light, friendly distance he can muster in his tone. “I just thought you’d probably want to be woken by now, and if you had someone else designated as your alarm clock, you could’ve been waiting awhile.”

“Goddamnit, Ray,” Brad mutters as he sets about working every knot, kink, and other stiff spot from his muscles, a process full of torso twists and shoulder rolls that Nate has watched on occasion, but absolutely cannot do so now. Offering a grin that barely counts as half-hearted, he raps his knuckles on the window at last, as a parting gesture rather than one of greeting.

After only a few steps away from the humvee, he hears that call again - “Sir?” - and turns to glance over his shoulder with his eyebrows quizzically arched. Something about the look on Brad’s face makes him turn slowly, fully around to face the vehicle as Brad climbs out of it, though; he’s got a strange and totally opaque intensity that comes over his features sometimes, leaving Nate with the feeling that he’s been seen right down to his soul, and that’s the look he gives Nate now. “Thank you.”

_Thank you._ Ostensibly, for waking him in Ray’s absence. Nate nods, grins, and continues to put distance between himself and Brad at double time, nearly jogging and giving not a single fuck now if he looks urgent enough to worry anyone, because Brad obviously wasn’t thanking him for anything else, but…

… but the situation, and everything about the timing, and that inscrutable look on Brad’s face, mean that Nate will never really know for sure.


End file.
